


Last Flight of the Lark

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [48]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cancer, Deaf Dean Winchester, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ignacia's battle with cancer has ups and downs. Some days are easy, others are hard - and it's not just her that's affected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Flight of the Lark

Ignacia was determined not to be a statistic. The doctors kept telling her and Dean that they had caught her leukemia before it could get a good hold on her – and she had an excellent chance of beating the thing. They told her that apart from the cancer, she was in excellent health, already had a sensible diet, took good care of herself – and had an iron will to do anything she set her mind to doing. She knew it was going to be a tough fight, the fight of her life and she was going to win it. She was going to get better and while it wouldn't happen fast, she was determined to be in remission by the time Liesel headed off for first grade. 

Of course, the cancer had completely ended her ability to work and had sent her straight into being a stay-at-home mom. Although she tended to stay in bed and Jay Gatz did most of the house work. At least, she thought he did – or else her house was never that dirty to begin with. She found it almost ironic that the illness had finally caused her settle down and start working her way through that long list of books she kept meaning to read, but never found the time to do so. 

Dean was adamant about her resting – and while some days it was easy to just pull the covers back over her head, others – not so much. Today was one of those days. Ignacia let out a soft sigh and set her book down on the bed next to her. The alarm clock on the dresser across the room said it was eleven in the morning – and downstairs, she could hear Jay clacking away on his laptop. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and frowned at the few strands that came out when she did. “They told me this was going to happen.” She pushed back the covers and stuck her feet into her slippers. After pulling on her robe, she slowly went into the hall. She wasn't even a foot away from the bottom of the stairs when Jay's voice called out from the dining room. 

“Aren't you supposed to be resting?” 

She leaned against the threshold, folding her arms. “I slept almost ten hours last night and I've been in bed all morning. I think I'm due for a little exercise.” 

The man looked up from his laptop and smiled. “I suppose you do.” He moved his mouse for a moment and then shut the computer. “Lis left a message for you. She would like you to help her get valentines ready for her class party in a few days.”

Ignacia grimaced and came to sit at the dining room table. “When did February get here? I could swear it was just December.” 

“I know what you mean. I thought it was November just two weeks ago.” He made a face. “But that could have been because I woke up on Superbowl Sunday with the overwhelming urge for roast turkey and stuffing.” 

Ignacia let out a laugh that ended in a cough. “I can see where you might get confused.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “How is the story going?”

“Slow.” Jay rubbed his eyes. “You know, I think you and Dean might be the only ones who know what I'm writing.”

“Well, I don't blame you for using a pen name.” She slowly grinned. “If those religious zealots on this block who I know read your books knew that you were the one who wrote them, their parents would never let their daughters read them.” She shook her head. “Just the fact that you care about sports and have, on occasion, consumed alcohol is enough to get you... what is the term...”

“Banned works.” Jay sighed and shook his head. “I'm just glad that I've yet to be called a Melody Carlson knock-off.” 

“I think that's because your protagonists aren't self-righteous little brats. At least, the ones I've read.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Which one are you working on now?”

“The third book in the Presbyterian set – the ones about Corrine.” 

“I remember who is who, Jay. Dean told me that you're going to be starting one about a Hindu boy soon.” 

“Yeah. Though I don't know if I'm going to keep it about a boy – religious fiction is not exactly a big thing with the twelve to sixteen set.” He chuckled. “Unless there's a book report and they need a short novel.” 

“I just find it admirable that you know so much about all the world's religions.” She stood up and headed for the kitchen. Yogurt sounded good right now.

**

Liesel wasn't sure what leukemia was – only that it was making mommy sick and tired. Dad told her that the best thing she could do for her mom was let her rest and to not upset her. Liesel didn't understand that much either – but she knew how to keep herself entertained, if that's what her dad meant. Since her mom was sick – her dad did most of the cooking, or Mr. Jay prepared something before he left. Having grown used to food prepared by the man – she didn't have too much trouble adjusting. But it was how serious dinner conversations were now. There wasn't much laughter and she had to wonder if laughter was another one of those things that could upset Mom. She tucked herself into her rocking chair, keeping the music from her player as low as she could and still hear it. 

She felt safer in the chair, hugging her bear, her eyes fixed on the space between the dust ruffle and the floor. Liesel was positive there was something under her bed and it couldn't get her if she was in the chair. The chair was safe. 

“Lis?” A voice said from the doorway and she nearly jumped.

“Dad?” She hugged her bear tighter. Great – now she was most likely in trouble for being up in the middle of the night, but there was something under her bed and it was going to eat her if she tried to get back in it.

“What are you doing up?” He turned the overhead light on, his face less disapproving that she expected. 

She swallowed hard. “There's something under my bed.” 

To her great surprise, her dad's eyes widened in a look that was anything but skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Uh huh. It had big teeth.” She sniffled. “I... you said not to upset mom and...”

Her dad came over to the bed and bent down, lifting up the dust ruffle to look under it. “Monsters under the bed are something I can handle, Lis.” He got up, his face unreadable. “Now, whatever it is, the light most likely scared it away.” He came over to the rocking chair, picked her up and set her in the bed. “I'm going to leave the light on and I'll be right back.” 

“Okay, Daddy.” She hugged her bear tighter as he walked from the room, flipping off the player as he passed it. In the quiet of the room, she could hear the distant traffic from the highway, the barking of the Carmichaels' dog – Mr. Jay said the animal was so ugly it was cute – and then, the creak of her dad on the stairs as he came back from wherever he went downstairs. 

“I have just the solution to the problem.” He was carrying the glass shaker from the dining room – the one they never used.

“What?” She craned her neck to see what was in the shaker.

“Monster repelling dust.” Her dad crouched back down and while she watched, he shook the shaker all along the floor beneath the dust ruffle. “This will keep whatever is under here from showing up again.” He stood up and set the shaker on her bedside table. “It's pretty powerful stuff.”

“Is the monster scared of it?” She gulped.

“Yes. I'll check under here tomorrow morning to be double sure he's gone.” He kissed her on the top of the head. “But there will be no more monster sightings tonight.”

Liesel yawned and laid back down in her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“You're welcome, pumpkin.” He crossed over to the door and turned out the light, leaving the room cast in the glow of the nightlight. _“Good night.”_

 _“Night.”_ She replied, and closed her eyes. No wonder they didn't use the glass shaker if it held monster repelling dust. 

**  
April arrived in Texas with a flourish of rain and a spring that seemed to be racing towards summer as fast as possible. Ignacia might not have noticed the change at all had it not been for the rain. The family weren't strangers to the lack of winter weather – winter could barely be called that in Palo Alto either. However, one thing she could see was the strain that was slowly starting to appear on the surface of their household. She was tired of being sick. Dean was tired of not being able to spent the time with his family that he wanted and Liesel – well, the girl was almost six and quite frankly, she couldn't really blame her for starting to be frustrated. Six year olds weren't supposed to have to deal with these sorts of things. 

Honestly, Liesel shouldn't have to worry about anything other than if she had her homework done in her mother's opinion. 

She settled back in her chair, grimacing slightly at the tiny pull on the IV that was above her, slowly dripping in medicine that was supposed to slow down the disease that was doing it's hardest to kill her. Some days it felt like they might as well be putting sugar water in her veins for all the good it seemed to be doing. Her hair was gone – now her scalp was covered in a scarf with a bright flower pattern. The other people having chemo today were all in various stages of decline and rise, all of them thin and most of them had scarves like her, or they wore skull caps – and a few had wigs. Ignacia didn't want a wig, that was for certain. She was going to beat this wretched disease and she wouldn't need it anymore, so why bother getting a wig in the first place?

“I like your blanket.” A tiny voice said from her left and she turned. A girl who looked to be eleven or twelve was sitting in the chair next to hers, an IV attached to her arm. 

“Thank you.” She smoothed the quilt down, smiling faintly at the pattern. “My friends sent it to me.”

“You have nice friends then.” The girl's smile got a little wider, but it appeared just as tired as before. “I'm Candace.”

“It's nice to meet you, Candace. I don't think I've seen you in here before.” Ignacia could tell this girl definitely needed someone to talk to – why she didn't have her parents with her, she couldn't imagine. 

“I didn't think I was coming back. My dad wants to stop treatment, my mom doesn't – and quite frankly, I just wish they could get along so I don't have to spend what time I've got left listening to one bad-mouth the other.” She let out a sigh. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about this...”

“It's all right. I keep getting told that working out your anger helps the healing process. I'd rather punch them in the face sometimes when they say that, but it'd be a waste of perfectly good energy.” She covered her mouth and coughed.

“I know what you mean.” She sighed. “May I ask you something?”

“Certainly.” The talking was actually improving her mood some. 

“If you'd been fighting cancer since you were seven years old, and you were seven six years ago, would you want to keep on going?” 

“I couldn't say. I'd want to know why I wasn't getting better, more than anything.” Her face softened. “I think at that point you would earn the right to constantly ask the doctors if they knew what they were doing.” 

Candace covered up a giggle. “I guess so.” She sighed. “They keep sending representatives from the Make A Wish Foundation to see me. What I want isn't what my parents think I should ask for, so it just dissolves into another fight.”

“What is the Make A Wish Foundation? I've never heard of it.” Ignacia shifted in her seat slightly to get more comfortable.

“It's this program for kids with severe illnesses and stuff. Usually kids ask for things like a trip to Disneyland, or meet some famous athlete or celebrity.” She smiled and tucked her feet under her, looking a little more cheerful. “My mom thinks I should ask to go to Hawaii and my dad thinks I should ask to meet the president, or at least go to Washington D.C. Have you ever been there?”

“My in-laws live near there, so yes.” She thought for a moment. “What is it you want to wish for, Candace?”

The girl looked so shocked, Ignacia was worried something might be wrong. “Wow. Not even my _parents_ have asked me that!” 

“I'm a parent myself, I recognize the look.” She gave the girl an encouraging smile. “So what is it you would like to do?”

“I want to meet an Olympic Gymnast. I mean, I don't need to meet Mary Lou Retton or Nastia Lukin – but, you know – maybe one of the Magnificent Seven, or something.”

“Those were very nice girls. I did not get to talk to any of them at great length, but they were all amazing athletes.” Ignacia sighed. “Some days Atlanta seems so long ago and other days like it was just last year.” 

Candace blinked in surprise. “You were at the Atlanta Olympics?” 

“Yes, and the games in Sydney.” She sighed. “That was a plane ride I was glad to sleep through.” 

“I can imagine...” She paused. “Wait, are you a journalist, or something?” 

“No, I used to be a gymnast. For Romania.” Ignacia saw the girl's eyes widen again. “What, does that surprise you?”

“I... well, this is not the sort of place you expect to... wait, if you were a gymnast for Romania, you probably... uh... is it polite to ask how many medals you have?” Candace's voice had lost its tired, worn feeling and was replaced by something akin to excitement.

“It's all right. I earned five medals – and this conversation is a good change from the usual how are you feeling today.” She rubbed the spot behind her ear, it was itching. “Though I think my medal days are long behind me.” 

“Wow. Just. Wow.” Now the girl was downright grinning. “What...what are you medals in?” She paused. “Wait... what's your name?”

“My name is Ignacia Coulter – my last name used to be Madgearu – though I don't know if you would have heard of me. I wasn't one of Romania's best gymnasts.”

“I don't think that's true. I mean, five medals in two games? Lots of gymnasts come home with none, and others don't even make it.” 

“Well, I wasn't the best or the worst, how about that?” She pulled her quilt up, feeling rather cold. “I earned two team medals, one all around medal, and individual medals on bars and floor.” She shook her head. “I never would have won that silver on the floor in Atlanta if Kerri Strugg hadn't injured her ankle.”

Candace smiled. “Either way, I'm impressed.” She tucked an arm against herself. “If you could meet someone famous – who would it be?”

“The group Celtic Women...or that Tim Gunn fellow.” She shook her head.

The girl repressed a snort. “Make it work.” 

“That's right.” Ignacia closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. “Make it work.” 

**  
The oncologists couldn't pinpoint where the infection started. It was insane to Dean that in this day and age, in this _country_ an infection could go unnoticed before it got the hold that it did. But it had – an infection and pneumonia – pneumonia in June, of all times. A week ago, Ignacia had been home, everything had been good and they had celebrated Liesel's sixth birthday with a small party – they'd invited Emma and the rest of the Steins over, it'd been quiet and after it was over, Ignacia decided that next year, for her seventh, Liesel could invite some classmates over or something. 

Now all of that was slipping away. 

Dean hadn't been in a hospice since Great-grandfather Coulter, so gone in Alzheimer disease he kept asking when he was due to ship out to fight the Kaiser. Dean had been eleven then. Now he was thirty one. He slid into the chair at Ignacia's bedside, the stench of bleach and cleanser was drowned out by the vase full of star-gazer lilies by her bed. He took a breath and took her hand in both of his. 

Ignacia didn't look like herself anymore. Gone was her vivacious look, her energetic smile, all of it was gone, leaving a shell of a woman who just seemed to be fading out of existence. Dean could feel how thin her pulse was under his hands, and the only reason her eyes glistened anymore was due to pain killers. How could she have fallen so far in just a short time? It didn't seem possible, it didn't seem right.

“Hey.” He pulled on the bravest smile he could manage, determined not to let his love see him cry.

“Hi.” Her mouth barely moved when she spoke. 

“You don't have to try and talk.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Rest is good for you.”

“I think it's a moot point, Dean.” Her face crunched a little. “Where's Lis?”

“She's at home, with her grandparents. Are you positive you don't want her to come and see you?” Dean let out a breath. “She misses you.”

“I miss her too.” She closed her eyes and settled herself against her pillow and let out a breath. “You two take care of each other, understand?”

“Don't talk like that.” He moved so that he was sitting on the bed, setting one hand on her face, stroking her cheek. “You're doing so well.”

“Liar.” She opened her eyes. “I can read your face as easy as you can read mine.”

“Ignacia...” He swallowed. “I can't... I don't know how...”

“You'll find a way, Dean.” She squeezed his hand weakly. “You're the strongest person I've ever known. Overcoming so much... going so far...”

“Ignacia...” His throat ached. “It...” He managed a weak smile. “Did I ever tell you how many hours I worked on learning to say your name?”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Such a romantic... without even trying.” 

Dean felt a tiny blush spread across his cheeks. “I thought it wasted after I didn't go to Sydney. Guess other plans were in motion so it wasn't.”

“I'll find us a place to go dancing.” She squeezed his hand. “Will you still let me lead, even though you'll hear the music then?”

He nodded and swallowed. “Do you need anything?” 

“Just... stay. Stay until I'm asleep.” She closed her eyes. “I'm so tired, Dean.”

“I know you are.” He felt the tears slide down his cheeks. Every fiber of his being was telling him to do something, to find a way to stop this somehow, to save the woman in the bed who was dying. His love was suffering and it physically hurt to see her like this. It dredged up long dormant feelings of misery and he knew he could not let this consume him. Liesel needed him to be strong, his family needed him to be strong. He brushed his thumb against Ignacia's cheek bone. “I love you.”

In response, Ignacia weakly squeezed his hand, and then it went slack.

**  
Somehow, summer passed. Liesel couldn't pinpoint the day both sets of grandparents were suddenly gone, but it was the middle of August before she knew it. School was starting in a week and nothing seemed to be getting any better. How could things get better when her mom was gone? But hadn't countless people told her it would get easier, things would never be normal again, but they would find a new normal – or something. 

Mr. Jay wasn't much help. Oh, he tried, Liesel was pretty sure he was – he'd been the one to take her to Target to get her back to school supplies and made sure she was all ready for first grade. The real trouble, Liesel felt – was that she and daddy hadn't gotten to spend a lot of time together, at all. If they just had time together, or something. They had the weekends, of course, but they didn't do anything together – meals had been leftovers and casseroles people had given them. 

Liesel didn't want to see another pan full of turkey tetrazzini until she was at least fourteen. But it had seemed to easy for the two of them to just reheat portions of the massive food store in the fridge, rather than eat anything else.

At least Mr. Jay had kept milk, cottage cheese and bread in the house. Or something like that. 

No one would tell her exactly, how things would go from now on. But were things just going to stay like this? She and her dad moving around the house and not speaking to each other? She missed laughing, she missed Daddy smiling. Almost as much as she missed momma. She tucked herself into her rocking chair, watching stars slowly appear in the night sky. She'd put herself to bed soon. 

The monster under her bed wasn't there anymore. Liesel wasn't sure when he vanished, and really – did it matter?   
She didn't need happy all the time Dad, she just needed a not always sad Dad. Liesel was more tired of being sad than she was of leftovers.

Down the hall, Dean sat on his bed, starting at the floor. His long dormant fear of turning into John Winchester had returned. Not that he could even fathom hitting Liesel – but there were other aspects of the man Dean feared. The aloofness, the coldness, the hardheartedness – Dean didn't want to become mean. But the fact that here he was, a widower at thirty-one, with a six year old to raise, everything seemed impossible. He sighed and then felt something tug on his hand. He looked up, frowning.

Liesel stood there, biting her lip in the same way he did when he was nervous or uncertain. She tugged on his hand again. What was wrong? The next time she tugged on his hand, he stood and let her lead him out of his room and down to hers. Once there, she guided him to sit in her rocking chair. As he watched, she stuck a CD in the player – one he recognized as one of the many Ignacia played countless times. She pushed a few buttons and then climbed into his lap, hugging him the best she could. 

Dean wrapped her in a protective embrace. He understood. He slowly set the chair in motion, feeling his girl crying fitfully. He let her have her tears, he had enough of his own. Liesel was bigger than he remembered – how much had she grown this past summer? How could he have not noticed? He sighed and felt rather ashamed of himself. 

He would not be like John Winchester.

Liesel needed him. 

His parents were in Maryland and Ignacia's parents were all the way in Romania. True, there was Jay, but he had to be there for his little girl. He had promised Ignacia he would be strong. He was going to keep that promise. 

After he tucked a now sleeping Liesel into bed, he went to turn off the player and glanced at the artist and play-list on the empty case on the dresser. Dean closed his eyes and set his hand against one of the speakers and a faint beat, warm and comforting. He knew this song – his mom – Mary – had once had set his hands against a speaker to hear this exact same song when he was little. 

Although why a baby would ever want a mocking bird or a diamond ring, he had no idea. 

He turned off the player and set the battered fallen bear from the floor back onto the bed. “Your mama loves you – and so do I.” He kissed his daughter's forehead and went back to his room. 

Tomorrow, he and Liesel would start working on a way to living again.


End file.
